Title: Damage Control
Writer: Left_eye_better
Rating: M
Characters: Ratchet, Jazz, and ensemble
Summary: When the end of the Ratchet's natural life comes he's willing to accept it, however not everyone is so accepting, especially when there is another option.
Prompt(s): Ratchet/Jazz- Who do you think you are, and Ratchet/Jazz- Damage control
Warning: Spark sex
Word Count: 7213
Continuity: TFA
Author's Note: This story will be posted in five parts, each part with contain two sections. I figured it would be nicer to read in larger parts than smaller ones.
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Upon their arrival at the scene the humans backed away from the work, mostly to stand in awe of the abilities and sheer strength that the Autobots possessed. The team gathered around a large bridge support that had been knocked down in the final battle with Megatron. Each one of them found a hold and on Optimus's count they lifted the fallen pillar placing it on one of the humans' flatbed trucks. Bumblebee's hands slipped causing the weight on his section to drop first on the truck. A cloud of dust was created by the action causing the group to have to clear their air intakes by coughing.
Jazz raised his hand to fan the dust, "Hey Bee, next time give us Bots a bit of warnin' would ya." The black and white mech looked over at his yellow teammate with a grin to show he was kidding. After everything was said and done bureaucracy had kicked Jazz in the skidplate. His rank as an Elite Guard member had been striped, but all-in-all he actually felt more at peace with his current assignment than he had in vorns as part of the Elite Guards. Whenever he though about the change he had to resist looking down to the wingless Autobrand that now decorated his chest. The cyber-ninja looked to his fellow teammates taking in each of them. He could feel comfortable here… once he got over the whole ingrained fear of organics thing.
Optimus had gone to speak with the leader of the human work crew. A smirk tugged up the corner of Jazz's mouth. That kid of a leader was bound for something. The firetruck had taken a knee in order to speak with the human at a more tolerable height for the organic, and they spoke in common language no need to sound like businessmen or diplomats, just a leader of a maintenance team to a leader of a construction crew. Size or race no factor for their team leader. Jazz had seen the appraising look Ultra Magnus have given the young Prime as the blue and red mech had approached him to return the hammer. Cycling air the sports car mech tried not to laugh. Optimus had a lot ahead of him when he was called back to Cybertron.
Jazz dusted his hand off letting his attention move from their Prime to Bee and Bulkhead. Nothing new they were just two friends being friends. Bee had gone into reenacting a scene from some movie, and each time he switched between the characters he took a step to either the left or the right, and tried his best to mimic the voice tones. Watching them made Jazz miss the twins and part of him wished they had been reassigned as well to at least give them a chance to interact with younger mechs. The Elite Guard was no place for anyone young in spirit.
Speaking of old timers the cyber-ninja looked toward Ratchet. The old mech had taken he usual post beside the fire truck. Jazz watched from a distance. Nothing seemed to phase the red and white, organics, rust, the threat of deactivation, or the lack of recognition he'd received for his efforts in the Great War. Ratchet was tough as trithyllium steel. Jazz had read the files his rank had given him privilege to, and being in the Elite Guard had put him in contact with a lot of veterans from the War, or what was left of them. Each vorn there was less of the old timers. They were losing a great resource one mech, or femme at a time.
Ratchet's hand rubbed at the glass on his chest as if to soothe an ache. At the time Jazz had missed the motion or hadn't thought much of it. Much later when looking back it all started forming a nasty picture that Jazz couldn't ignore.
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Since their return to Earth their lives had seemed to fall into near relaxing pattern. They dealt with human villains as much as they had dealt with the remnants of the Decepticons. In between their duties protecting the city they assisted with the clean up and rebuilding process they kept their optics out for any possible shards of the AllSpark that may not have been recovered. Sometimes though on rare nights in the evening the game system was set aside, and the television turned off, Ratchet was pulled out of his lair and made to tell them stories from the war.
Jazz had initially felt this was something as a grown mech he shouldn't indulge in but when seeing that the rest of the team had settled around the makeshift couch with Ratchet the main focus of attention, he joined as well. Yoketron had done similar and it brought back a warmth to think of his time at the dojo. Times had certainly changed. The mech was different, and the story as well, but the feeling of camaraderie was present. Bee and Sari leaned against the large form of Bulkhead, while their Prime had pulled over an oil drum to use as a seat. The black and white mech had gracefully taken to the floor and leaned back against the couch, with an arm thrown back on the cushions bent. From this position him and Optimus could exchange skeptical glances, and smirks when the tales grew too tall for them to buy.
After a long bout of laughter that was induced from multiple exchanges of glances between the listeners, and some not-so-tactful questions about the validity of Ratchet's story due to how many concussion blasts he'd already mentioned he'd taken during the event he was recounting, the medic hissed in pain. He drew in air and cycled it out slowly. His hand had yet again moved to the glass on his front, nearly center because of the softer sensory pads on his fingers they made no sound as the rubbed the glass.
It was then Jazz noticed the motion. He looked to Optimus across from him to see which of them was going to speak first. The Prime had opened his mouth and had his vocalizer wired up to speak when the medic himself interjected. "Alright, I think that's done it for tonight." His free hand made a shooing motion at the small crowd. "I'm starting to ache just think about those concussion blasts." The medic stood and straightening his spinal struts causing they to realign with a popping sound. "Old models like me need to recharge, and defrag takes longer, so scram."
The fire truck mech shrugged at Jazz nothing he could do. It wasn't as though either of them were medics. It was probably just another age-related gripe. Something about the action stood out to the cyber-ninja. He couldn't place why but it left him with a nervous feeling. He watched the medic retreat to his bunk in the rough medbay, the door shutting behind the red and white mech. He looked down to the warehouse floor and his legs. Bee had woken Sari who had started to doze against Bulkhead's green side and they had left together to escort her home.
"You normally don't sit still so long, something up?" The young Prime's voice cut through Jazz's thoughts prompting him to check him chronometer. He looked up at the other mech. Optimus must have wandered away and returned to find he hadn't moved.
Standing up Jazz stretched lithely. "Nah, jus thinking. I've been known to do that time to time." The ninja shot one of his classic grins over his shoulder before proceeding to start the walk to his quarters.
"Well, if you ever need someone to talk to I'm here for you as I am for the rest of my team." Their leader meant well when he offered, but with how close their unit was the trim sports car mech had to wonder if any of crew would wish to bother their kind leader with their problems.
Jazz was starting to understand what might have attracted Prowl to stay and what may have given him the courage to do what had to be done. There was a Cybertronian Phrase that probably predated the Great War, 'A truly caring and compassionate leader can inspire sparks to shine their brightest.' Optimus managed to bring out the best. "Don't worry, OP. I'll tell ya if something important comes up." Jazz disappeared in the newly renovated area with a small wave. " 'Night."